


Every Second With You, I Want Another

by WildnessBecomesYou



Series: Music is Not the Food of Love, but the Messenger [18]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining, Fluff, M/M, Pining, This is sickly sweet, aziraphale prays, crowley kisses tenderly, crowley tried to save the children FIGHT ME
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:20:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: But maybe we could hold off for one secSo we could keep this tension in checkBut there’s no way that it’s not going there(Going, it's not going there)With the way that we’re looking at each otherThey've been dancing around and into each other for 6,000 years.





	Every Second With You, I Want Another

**Author's Note:**

> Heard There's No Way by Lauv and Julia Michaels today and realized it was an Ineffable song, here have some more fluff

This was inevitable. 

Crowley’s knuckles against Aziraphale’s cheek, skating softly down as Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed.

Inevitable. No way it wouldn’t happen.

The first hint had actually been the First Night of Forty, when the flood hadn’t quite reached it’s fullness, but most of humanity had been lost. Crowley had stood atop a mountain, screaming as he watched the last of the tiny swimmers disappear beneath the waves. His hands were still outstretched. 

It reminded Aziraphale of when Crowley had fallen, his own hands reaching for his once-brother-in-arms. 

And he couldn’t help himself. He flew from his own perch to Crowley’s, wrapping his arms around the demon’s middle, his cheek against the demon’s shoulder. He fell to kneeling with Crowley, and listened to the wordless screaming. He let the demon bend himself in half. He let the demon dig his nails into the angel’s arms. 

_God Almighty,_ Aziraphale prayed silently, _ease his pain, let me ease his pain._

Crowley stayed long after he stopped screaming. So Aziraphale stayed. They remained there until the Forty Nights were over and the sun began to rise. 

Aziraphale watched a few extra children come out of the ark, and smiled, his chin poised atop Crowley’s shoulder. 

Oh, he would follow this dear being to the end of time. Oh, he would build history from the demon himself. All the sands of time could not keep him away or contain his multitudes. 

When he stood, Crowley followed. They stared at each other, some secret knowledge of just how permanent this was passing between them, and ignored the sinking thoughts of _what if this all goes wrong._

In a ballroom in France, millennia later, their hands brushed as they skated past each other. They ignored the spike of tension in the room; they ignored that their eyes met and hearts connected. 

Later, Crowley would find him in the stables. 

“Major design flaw, horses,” Crowley said, but his hands were gentle against the stallion’s neck. He smiled at the angel.

Aziraphale melted. 

His knees gave out, actually, but then Crowley was at his elbow, raising him up, looking him over with concern. 

Their eyes met, and Aziraphale found himself praying. 

_God Almighty, let me keep him, let me have him, please._

“Are you quite sure you’re alright?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale nodded, tightening the straps on the saddle. “Quite.”

Crowley frowned. “You could always stay with me,” he murmured, smirk beginning to climb across his lips as he said, “if you were so tempted.” 

Aziraphale wanted to stay. He wanted more time with his dear boy. Instead, his mouth betrayed him, saying, “I really do have to get to London.” 

Crowley shrugged, coming off careless. He waited until Aziraphale had mounted the horse, clapped his hand against it’s rump, and called “See you later, then.”

Oh, there would be more meetings. Probably within the week. They could never be apart very long, and it all just kept building until these moments of finale. 

Now they needed the reset, the backing down of tension. 

Da capo al Segno. 

Aziraphale tried not to look back. 

_God Almighty,_ he prayed another millennia later, _give me bravery one of these days. Look at him, he’s so beautiful—_

And Crowley laughed, his shoulder-length hair bouncing. His eyes were bright behind his glasses, half his hair up in the strangest excuse for a man-bun Aziraphale had ever seen. He loved it anyways. 

Crowley asked him to try and save the world, and he resisted. But the demon insisted, and the angel gave in, hoping this was brave enough for now. 

They’d always missed each other. Crowley would ask for more, a shared duty, a shared city, and Aziraphale would spook, create distance between them. When Crowley had the personage of bravery, Aziraphale did not. 

When Aziraphale had the personage of bravery, Crowley did not. He would invite the demon to lunch and the demon would skitter away with reminders of rejections. He would finally step into an Agreement and Crowley would practically run off, leaving Aziraphale to pick up the pieces. 

Time never seemed to line up for them.

They kept dancing around each other, into each other, ebbing and flowing with romantic tension. Aziraphale could barely keep it together. 

Time never seemed to line up for them, until Crowley stopped time, answering a wish Aziraphale barely knew he had. 

_God Almighty,_ he prayed, _look at this beautiful being._

And then the world didn’t end. 

Days later, Crowley found his bravery, and Aziraphale found his. 

_God Almighty,_ Aziraphale prayed as Crowley walked him backwards through his bookshop, _thank you. Thank you._

Crowley had refused to touch him for days, tension reaching a boiling point. He could hear the demon screaming inside, echoes of that First of Forty Nights, and ached to soothe him. 

His back found a wall, and Crowley was pressed against him, hands flattened against his chest; Aziraphale let his hands rest on Crowley’s suddenly not-very-wiggly hips. He stared into golden eyes, searching the emotions there, the soft lines history had inlaid around Crowley’s eyes, over his forehead, by his lips. He could feel the ebb and flow of tension in that expression, the history inherent. 

He could see the regret at missed opportunities. He could feel those regrets himself, thinking of every moment this could have been happening. 

Crowley raised a hand from Aziraphale’s chest, turning it to the side, brushing his softly curled knuckles against Aziraphale’s cheek. Aziraphale let his eyes flutter closed. 

The touch was too tender to see. His hand twitched up out of reflex, searching, and Crowley caught it in his, pressed a kiss to the angel’s knuckles now. Aziraphale’s eyes flew open. 

Crowley was staring at him, softly now. His eyebrows had lifted, deepning the lines of his forehead. His mouth hung open in anticipation, jaw loosened in shocked hope. His breaths came quickly, chin tilting up slightly, eyebrows turning up in the center. He leaned forward ever so slightly and his hand dropped Aziraphale’s, a smile almost forming before he was rushing forward—

His eyes closed just before his lips met Aziraphale’s, and they were soft and chaste and Aziraphale wanted to cry, this was all too much to bear. Crowley’s hand was laid against his jaw, thumb at his cheek and fingers stretching towards his hair. His shoulders were bunched up practically by his ears. His other hand came up, cupping the side of Aziraphale’s head, fingers scrunching into his hair. He was pressed against Aziraphale, pulling him in even as Aziraphale pushed into him, his own brows tilting up, hand around Crowley’s wrist, pulling it closer against his jaw. 

With a quiet, almost popping noise, the kiss was over, and Aziraphale found himself curled against Crowley’s chest. He missed the brushing of their noses, but Crowley’s fingers in his hair felt so _good_ , and his other arm was around the angel’s shoulders, his chin atop the angel’s head. He felt so safe like this. Crowley’s chest expanded beneath him, surprised gasps coming in quickly and leaving slowly. 

He forced himself up in Crowley’s arms, dragged the demon’s hand back to his jaw. “Kiss me like that again,” he begged. 

Crowley did, and Aziraphale let out a breathy whimper, somewhere between melting into a puddle on the ground and pushing back up into Crowley. Crowley continued to kiss him tenderly, sweetly, without expectation, and Aziraphale felt like he was either dying or alive for the first time in his life, this was unbearable. 

No, not unbearable.

_Inevitable._

**Author's Note:**

> The kiss was absolutely based off of That Kiss in Tennant's version of Richard II, don't @ me it was very tender okay it's been burned into my brain from the moment I saw it 
> 
> I GREW UP ON SHAKESPEARE AND I'VE NEVER SEEN THAT SCENE DONE THAT WAY BUT IT'S SO GOOD


End file.
